Nice Guy
by quiffed
Summary: RemusJames one-shot. Proof that my Bastard!Sirius manages to worm his way into everything. Everything. But anyway. I like this, even though it is scarcely anything like I imagined it would be. It's quite short and hopefully sweet. And by 'sweet' I mean it


**Nice Guy**

"I'm shit bored," Sirius stated for the third time. The words were less of a complaint or a whinge, more an indirect order – 'Do something about it'. He glanced irritably at the mop of dishevelled hair to the side of his mattress. James was lying on his stomach atop the bristly carpet, looking at an article that was headlined _Fearless Flyers: The Daredevils of the Quidditch Pitch._ In the photograph, a blond young man with glistening muscles was performing tricks on his broom as it hurtled madly through the sky. There were two pictures; one in real-time, which just showed a coloured smudge on a grey-blue background, and one in slow motion, where the 'daredevil' swung around and around the handle of his broom like a trapeze artist on speed, then somersaulted mid-swing into the air, landing safely on the twigs, which had been spray-painted acid-green. The 'daredevil' then beamed at the camera and flexed his muscles at the camera. He was so slick with what looked like sweat and baby oil, that it was a wonder his hands hadn't slipped right off his broom.

"Cool," Peter breathed, glancing over James's shoulder to peer at the stuntman, who promptly resumed swinging.

"Prongs, you'll never be able to do that, no matter how many Hogsmeade weekends and breaktimes you waste practising," Sirius said in an immensely annoyed tone. "Don't bother trying to impress Evans _again_." James's back stiffened, and he stopped staring wistfully at the photograph, rolling onto his side so that he could look Sirius in the face.

"You're doing that thing again, Pads." James said matter-of-factly. Sirius's grey eyes narrowed.

"What thing?" he asked, dangerously quiet. Peter bit his lip and glanced nervously at Remus, who hadn't turned the page of his book in what seemed like an age. Sirius smiled, slowly. "What _thing_?"

"That thing, where you're an _arse_, Pads."

There was a pregnant pause. Remus looked up from the pages of his book surreptitiously. It hardly mattered; he'd just re-read the same sentence five times.

"Fuck off, Potter."

"Gladly," James replied coolly, sitting up and brushing dried crumbs of mud off his knees. "I am _not_ going to humour you just because you're in one of your moods."

"I am not in a fucking mood!" Sirius shouted angrily. The yell jarred the air; in the following silence everything felt jolted out of place and awkward. Shafts of sunlight striped asymmetric patterns on the carpet.

"Moony and I have to do some work on our joint Potions project anyway," James said deliberately, not looking away from Sirius's stormy face. Remus stood up gratefully, and Peter pouted, not least because this time around he'd been delegated the role of social worker instead of him. It wasn't often one got one-on one time with James, as it wasn't that often you could wedge James and Sirius apart. They were so joined at the hip, they were practically conjoined twins – but whenever the inseparable duo split, Peter took the opportunity to _pounce_ with all the savagery of a mountain lion on an unsuspecting hiker.

"We're going to the common room," James announced imperiously, standing up. When he reached the door, he turned back to look at Sirius, who was, for all intents and purposes, sulking. Peter had taken possession of the magazine and was leafing through it, looking thoroughly miserable.

"So… are we going to make a start on Potions?" Remus asked tentatively, once they were safely down the stairs. The common room was empty; everyone else was most likely relaxing in their dorms, or enjoying the sunshine. James looked blankly at him for a couple of seconds, then snorted with incredulous laughter.

"Course not. I just said that to get us out of the room." James removed his glasses and puffed hot air on them, wiping the mist of water vapour with his frayed sleeve. James always looked slightly different without his trademark glasses – softer, more vulnerable, out of place. He put them on again, dragged his fingers through his hair rakishly and grinned wickedly. "Whatever shall we do?"

"I have no idea." Remus smiled, although he wasn't sure if James meant 'with Sirius' or 'instead of Potions'. The answer would most likely have been the same, though. Remus always felt so nicely grounded and _comfortable_ with James, instead of the vague feeling of rivalry and unease he had when alone with Peter, or the niggling apprehension Sirius generated – you never knew quite when he was going to blow up. James collapsed theatrically onto one of the burgundy sofas, and Remus flopped down next to him.

"You always look so distressed whenever Sirius is being a twat," James commented presently, toying with a pillow. Remus was startled.

"I do?"

"Yeah," James nodded. Then he frowned. "And I really think – I really think he could be decent enough not to be so melodramatic – especially when it's full moon."

"Yeah, well… Sirius has problems," Remus muttered uncomfortably. James rolled his head back and laughed wryly.

"Yeah, he does. But so does Peter. And so do you. Only you guys don't take it out on everyone else." Remus didn't say anything. He often thought he'd _like_ to take it out on other people. He'd like to yell and roar and stamp and throw tantrums. But what was the point, when you had the mother of all hissy fits once a month, and you did all the roaring you were physically capable of _then_?

"Prongs, _you_ don't have problems, do you?" James turned his head and looked at Remus with amused brown eyes.

"Naw," he drawled languidly. "Not a one."

"Bollocks. You must."

"I really, really don't," James grinned. "I don't have psycho relatives, I don't have lycanthropy, I'm not failing Charms and Transfiguration, and Dumbledore seems to like me, considering how he hasn't expelled me yet." James scratched a spot behind his neck thoughtfully. "Although I _am_ incredibly itchy. And I do have to keep you three in line…I'm thinking about investing in a good leather whip."

"For what?"

"Discipline." Upon seeing Remus's face, James chuckled. "I'm _joking_, Moony. Although _Biscuits_, the sadistic bugger, certainly has told me that's what he'd like to do to me enough times."

'Biscuits' was the school caretaker, so named because he always offered offenders stale oatmeal biscuits before assigning them punishments so harsh it was hard to accept that a human mind had conceived them. Some speculated that he thought perhaps this gesture softened the blow; regular perpetrators like James thought it more feasible that Biscuits reckoned that the worst crimes merited a near death experience from choking on oatmeal crumbs in addition to a month of scrubbing slime in the dungeon lavatory.

James rolled over, yawning, and rested his dark head in Remus's warm lap, eyes firmly closed.

"I just want to rest now." James mumbled, ignoring the balmy rays of orange sunlight beating through the window. "Apologies if I snore." James snuggled himself into a comfortable position. "Would you mind taking off my glasses, Moony? They're my third pair this term – Mum's gonna _kill_ me if they get scratched…"

Remus removed the glasses from where they were digging into James's cheek and heard the grunt of approval. James's chest rose and fell steadily, and there was a small smile playing about on his lips. On a whim, Remus bent and kissed the smile, gently, just for a second. James's eyes didn't flutter open, but the lips curved wider.

"Moooony," James sighed contentedly. Remus laughed at how uncomplicated James made the situation. It was so abnormally normal.

"Does _anything_ faze you, Prongs?" James shrugged, eyes still shut peacefully. Remus twisted a lock of James's hair around his finger.

"Naw," he murmured. "'m used to it."

"You're used to your best friend jumping you?" Remus asked slyly. When James didn't say anything, he tugged at the lock of hair in surprise. "Who – Peter?"

"Of fucking course not Peter," James muttered tiredly. "Heaven forbid that – Moony, you are messing up my hair. Desist."

There was an amiable silence for about five minutes.

"Do you think," James said suddenly, opening his eyes, "that it's because I am so devastatingly attractive and fiendishly handsome that I exude this overwhelming aura of raw sexuality? Do you think?"

"No," Remus replied, continuing to ruffle James's hair. "I think it's because you're a nice guy."

"Shit," James said testily, closing his eyes. "I was afraid it might be that."

_Fin_.


End file.
